


Line of Sight

by blueraccoon



Series: Geometry [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: BDSM, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-05
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:17:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueraccoon/pseuds/blueraccoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't even know if obsession begins to cover it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Line of Sight, pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has no slash between NCIS characters, but it does have an OC male couple, thus the posting here. This may, however, extend to another story that *does*, so you can conceivably read this one as pre-slash.

"This is gonna be a fun one," Tony muttered, looking around the deceased's apartment. Petty Officer Drake Francis, to be precise--and Tony could only wince at what that name had done to him in school. Blood pooled around the body, spatter on the walls. One spray cut across the dull drapes and the window. The victim himself was sprawled on his back, multiple stab wounds drenching his blue pajama top and bottoms in red. Next to him lay the murder weapon, a heavy carving knife.

Ziva wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Is there any blood left in his body?"

"Oh, yes," Ducky said from his crouch next to Francis. "More than you'd think. It's rather difficult to completely exsanguinate someone, and despite the rather gory scene, the actual amount of blood is relatively small."

"Time of death, Duck?" Gibbs asked, breaking in.

"Liver temp puts it around three this morning. But with all these stab wounds, I couldn't tell you which one was the cause of death until I get him on the table."

"Take him home and do that, then. Ziva, McGee, you two search the apartment. DiNozzo, you're with me. Francis had some neighbors; let's see if anyone heard anything." Gibbs jerked his head toward the door and Tony followed him out.

It turned out that Francis had three neighbors. The building was three stories tall, with two apartments on each floor. He'd been on the second floor. The apartment opposite his was empty, the two downstairs were occupied by the building manager--who had called it in--and a woman who worked nights and hadn't gotten home until nine in the morning. They'd check her alibi, of course, but given the way she'd stared at them sleepily and had barely managed to speak without yawning, Tony was willing to believe it.

"Let's see who's on the top floor," Tony said with a sigh, climbing the stairs. Unlike the other apartments, which had a door on either side of the hallway, this one had one door at the top of the stairs.

Three steps from the top, he noticed the music--loud and sweeping, some kind of symphony Tony couldn't identify off the top of his head.

"Beethoven's Third," Gibbs commented. "Second movement."

"How did you know that?" Tony asked in surprise. "I mean, no offense, Boss, but--"

"I'd stop there if I were you," Gibbs said mildly. He knocked on the door, waited a moment, and knocked again. He was about to knock for a third time when the music switched off and the door opened.

The man standing in front of them was tall--a couple inches taller than Tony--and lanky, with golden-brown hair and brown eyes. He also had streaks of blue and yellow paint in his hair, his hands were covered with various shades, and the faded red T-shirt he wore had an interesting slash of white paint from right shoulder to left hip. His old jeans had bits of blue and purple and green on them, his feet were bare, and he had a paintbrush in his teeth. "Hi," he said, taking the brush out of his mouth. "One sec."

Tony was about to ask what for when the man turned his head. "Yo! Stephen!" he called. "People for you!"

"How do you know they're for me?" an amused voice called back; Tony couldn't tell from where.

"They look like they can afford to eat."

Tony tried really, really hard not to laugh, but he didn't quite manage it. Gibbs glared at him and Tony had a feeling he'd be getting headsmacked later.

The man who walked over to them was shorter, about an inch or two shorter than Gibbs. He had thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail, and in contrast to his--friend? Partner? Tony wasn't sure--he wore black pants and a charcoal grey long-sleeve polo shirt. "Hi," he said, offering his hand. "I'm Stephen Bond. The idiot over there is Joshua Fielding. Is there something we can help you with?"

Gibbs held up his badge. "NCIS. I'm Special Agent Gibbs, this is Special Agent DiNozzo. We're here about your downstairs neighbor."

"Drake?" Stephen frowned. "What's wrong with Drake?"

"You knew him?" Tony questioned.

"Sure. He was a neighbor, and a casual friend, and--what's this about?" Stephen asked warily.

"Can we come in?" Gibbs asked.

Stephen shrugged and stepped aside. "Joshua, you want to clean up and come over here?" he asked.

Joshua groaned. "I was on a roll! And I'm not going to have this light much longer."

"We'd like to talk to you too, Mr. Fielding," Gibbs said.

Tony looked around the apartment out of habit and curiosity. It was big--bigger than Francis's place, and Tony had a feeling they'd knocked down the walls and made one top-floor place instead of having two apartments. The corner with the most windows--and a skylight, Tony noted--had canvases against the walls and a large easel, along with artist's tools on a table/cabinet thing nearby. The easel itself was on top of a dropcloth.

In contrast, another section had a drafting table, a computer table perpendicular to it, and an ergonomic chair. Tony couldn't quite see what was on the table but he was willing to bet it was blueprints of some kind.

What was interesting was that they hadn't just knocked down the walls between the apartments, but they'd knocked down most of the interior walls, period. There were partitions, but with a few exceptions, nothing reached the ceiling. Tony got a glimpse of the bed--king-size, made neatly in shades of green--but couldn't quite figure out the tall frame around it. It looked kind of like the bed was made for curtains, only they didn't have any.

He wondered what that was all about.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" Stephen asked, gesturing for them to sit at a small kitchen table. "Tea, water, coffee?"

"Don't drink his coffee," Joshua said wryly. "Not unless you want to be up all night." He walked to the steel sink, scrubbing his hands briskly.

"I'll try some," Gibbs said mildly. "Thank you."

"Nothing for me, thanks." Tony remained standing, watching as Stephen pressed a couple buttons on a high-end coffeemaker before pouring Gibbs a mug and handing it over. Gibbs took a sip and Tony was astounded to see his eyebrows raise.

"I did warn you," Joshua said, opening the fridge and taking out a bottle of juice. "He makes it one step below espresso."

"I like it strong," Stephen said mildly.

"So what's this about, anyway?" Joshua asked. "Did Drake get himself in trouble?"

"Drake got himself killed," Tony said bluntly.

Stephen stumbled back, grabbing the counter. "Drake?" he asked hoarsely. "How--what--"

Joshua caught him and pushed him into a chair. "What happened?" he asked quietly. He moved behind Stephen, almost unconsciously running his hands into Stephen's hair and undoing his ponytail. Loose, it tumbled around his face, ending just below his shoulders.

"He was murdered. Stabbed to death, somewhere around three this morning. Did either of you hear anything?" Gibbs asked.

"These walls are thick," Stephen said, almost apologetically. "And at three in the morning, we were either asleep or just coming home."

"You were out at three?" Tony asked.

"My friend Amy--she works for a non-profit, and they had a fundraiser last night. It went late." Joshua squeezed Stephen's shoulders. "I _think_ we were home by two, though. But Stephen's right, the walls are thick. This is an old building. And Drake kept mostly to himself."

"How well did you know him?" Gibbs asked, taking another--careful--sip of coffee.

"Not all _that_ well. I mean, we had dinner once or twice a month, and he came over sometimes for coffee. But..." Stephen shrugged.

Joshua blinked. "You never told me he came by for coffee."

"It happened a few times, when you were out." Stephen tilted his head back. "And I did tell you. You just forgot, along with everything else I tell you." His tone was affectionate and Joshua rolled his eyes in response.

"Did he ever talk about his personal life? Did he have a girlfriend, anything like that?" Tony asked.

"No," Stephen said, shaking his head. "I mean, he talked about his personal life a little, but he didn't really _have_ one. He didn't have a girlfriend, although to be honest..." Stephen sighed. "I didn't think--he was in the Navy, but honestly, I think he would have been more interested in a boyfriend. But he was single, and all I know about his work was that he was some kind of research specialist working for the DoD."

Great. That opened up a whole new potential can of worms. Tony tried not to wince, thinking about all the classified information they might have to worry about.

"Thank you for your time," Gibbs said, standing up. "Is there a way we can reach you, if we have any more questions?"

"Oh. Yeah." Stephen took a small notepad and a heavy black pen out of his pocket and scribbled down some numbers. "The first is our home number, the second is my cell."

"You don't have a cell, Mr. Fielding?" Tony asked.

"He _has_ one, it's just never _on_ and even when it is, he doesn't answer it." Stephen smiled a little, handing the piece of paper to Tony.

"Odds are we won't need to reach you, but you never know." Tony smiled. "Thanks."

The door swung closed quietly behind them as they left.

"So what do you think, Boss?" Tony asked as they headed downstairs.

"Too soon to tell, DiNozzo. Let's get back to the office and see."

****  
"Petty Officer Drake Francis," Ziva said back at the office, bringing his picture up on the plasma. "Twenty-seven, no siblings, father died when he was twelve. His mother lives in Florida. He was working for the DoD on a classified project, something to do with electronics--McGee's working on un-classifying it." She nodded at him; McGee shot her a frazzled look. He was on the phone and working on his computer simultaneously, probably trying to get clearance to access Drake's work.

"Anything in his apartment?" Gibbs asked.

Ziva shook her head. "Some scrapbooks, and he's got a journal, but he didn't have much in the way of personal effects. We found something McGee said was a spare hard drive for his computer, but that was about it."

"What's in the scrapbooks?" Tony asked.

"Some newspaper articles and some pictures. I haven't looked through them too closely yet but it seemed strange that he had all this information on one person." Ziva blew out a breath. "Abby's got them. I'll get right on it."

"I'll help you," Tony said, following her down to the lab. Gibbs came as well, leaving McGee to deal with the DoD. "Here, give me this one." He pulled on a pair of gloves and took the scrapbook and began flipping through it. Two pages in, he stopped dead. "Boss," he said slowly. "Come take a look at this."

The entire scrapbook was filled with pictures of Stephen, both in his apartment and outside. Pictures of him bent over his drafting table, of him walking down the street, articles about his work--he was apparently gaining a reputation as a talented young architect, Tony noted. Pictures of him working out; it looked like yoga. The pictures were often grainy and blurry, making Tony wonder if he'd taken them with a cameraphone or something similar.

"The other scrapbook's the same," Ziva said, looking over Tony's shoulder. She spread the scrapbook open next to his. "Looks like Francis was obsessed with this man, whoever he is."

"He's Francis's upstairs neighbor. And unless I'm completely off the mark, he's already got a partner."

"Good motive for murder," Gibbs murmured.

Ziva shook her head. "This is...insane."

"Mentally unbalanced, to say the least. I wonder if Stephen knew." Tony looked up. "I'll go check on his personal effects, Boss."

Gibbs just nodded.

The music was blaring and Abby was bouncing a little to it as she frowned at something on her screen. "What's up?" she asked without turning around.

"We've got a dead gay stalker and a growing list of questions. Got his stuff?"

"Over there. Bagged and tagged, but I was looking at his computer first. Guy knew his stuff, that's for sure. Lot of encryption, passwords all over the place. It's going to take me a while to get through everything, and I'm probably--" Abby wrinkled her nose. "Going to need McGee's help."

"You admitting you need his help? Guy _really_ knew his stuff." Tony began flipping through the bags, but there wasn't much. His wallet, which had a list of contents including twenty-two dollars, three credit cards and a debit card, and a driver's license. A set of keys. A picture ID keycard, which had an RSA fob attached. "Did we match up the keys to locks?" he asked.

"That's your job. I? Just sort the data." Abby grinned at him.

"Thank you, so much." Tony made a face at her and picked them up. "Five keys," he commented. "Looks like apartment, car, spare key to...something, mailbox, and...one more. Looks like...I have no idea. Thoughts?"

She came around the table, picking up the bag. "Padlock," she pronounced, handing it back to him. "He have a storage unit? And can I go back to my computer now?"

"Thanks, Abs." Tony headed back upstairs, wondering if there were storage units in the basement of the apartment building.

"Well, find out!" Gibbs said impatiently when Tony broached the question. He waved at the phone. "And McGee, find out what Francis was doing!"

A quick phone call determined that yes, there were storage units in the basement of the building and yes, Francis had had one. "Check it out," Gibbs said, sliding into his seat. "And take Ziva with you."

She looked about as thrilled as Tony felt. There was no reason two of them needed to go, but Tony didn't feel like arguing with Gibbs over it. However, he did insist on driving. If they were going to get there, he'd rather they do it in one piece.

"Every tenant's entitled to a storage unit," the building manager said, leading them downstairs. "Part of the building."

"Must be expensive rent," Tony commented.

"Nah, not so bad. Old building, so the wiring's dicey sometimes and there's no elevator, so the ones on the top floor have to wrestle everything up themselves. And with Joshua's paintings..." The manager shook his head. "Pain in the ass, if you ask me. Don't know how he makes a living."

Tony had to wonder the same thing. Depending on how this went, they might need to find out.

"This one's his," the manager said, nodding at a plain metal door. "You need me to open it?"

"Let's find out if this matches, first." Tony took out the key and eased it into the lock; he wasn't surprised to hear it click open. "Thanks, we're good," he said with a grin.

"Okay." The manager shrugged and scratched his thinning gray hair. "Be upstairs if you need me."

Tony waited until he was gone to pull off the padlock and swing the door open--and then he and Ziva just stared for a moment. "Holy Mary, Mother of God," Tony murmured. "This..."

"I don't even know if obsession begins to cover it," she said, stepping into the room.

There were pictures everywhere. Tony had no idea when Francis had even _taken_ some of them--they were clearly personal shots, and there was absolutely no indication that Stephen had had any idea he was being photographed. Ziva whistled, looking at a series of him going through a yoga routine. "He's flexible," she commented.

Tony looked over her shoulder. "Are people _supposed_ to bend like that?"

She rolled her eyes and stepped over to a table covered with a black cloth. On top of the table were a few items--a gold Star of David pendant, a watch, a white sweater, and a black pen engraved with Hebrew letters. "Shmuel ben Rufuel," Ziva said, nodding at the pen. "His Hebrew name."

"We'll have to bring him down to the office to verify that these are his." Tony dug out evidence bags and handed a couple to Ziva. "I wonder if he even noticed they were missing."

"Probably. That pendant's worth quite a bit, not to mention the emotional value. Question is, did he think they were missing or did he give them to Francis?"

"Only one way to find out." Tony sealed the bag containing the pen and scribbled its contents and his initials on it. "Let's get these entered into evidence and invite Mr. Bond down to identify his stuff."

******  
Stephen came down to the office readily enough, if a bit confused. "I thought you had the information you needed," he said, brushing a lock of hair back. "I'm not sure what else I can tell you."

"Are any of these items yours, Mr. Bond?" Tony asked, gesturing to the table where they'd been laid out.

"They--" Stephen paled. "Where did you find these?" He looked up at Tony.

"Francis had them in his storage unit. Are they yours?"

"Yes--all of them." Stephen brushed his fingers over the bags. "My watch--Joshua gave me that to celebrate a commission. The pendant, the pen--I've had those for years. My parents gave me the pen for my bar mitzvah, and my sisters gave me the pendant when I got my degree. The sweater...that's new. I've only had that a few months."

"How is it that you didn't notice any of this was missing?" Ziva asked skeptically.

"I don't use the pen often and I'm not much of a jewelry person. I thought they were in my dresser, with the rest of my valuables. I thought I'd misplaced the sweater somewhere and the watch..." Stephen shrugged. "I figured Joshua had accidentally put it away."

"How long have you and Joshua been together?" Tony asked.

"Just under a year. Why? What does any of this have to do with Drake?" Stephen ran a hand through his hair. "And can I have my belongings back?"

"We'll need to have our forensics expert look at them, but you should get them back soon. Did you know if Petty Officer Francis had any feelings for you?" Tony asked, leaning against his desk.

"Drake?" Stephen shrugged. "I thought he had a slight crush on me. I didn't encourage it--he was a nice guy, but he wasn't my type and I'm already involved. I didn't want him getting the wrong idea. Why?"

"Too late," Ziva murmured. "So you had no idea that he might have been stalking you?"

"Drake?" Stephen looked at her incredulously. "No, not at all. Are you saying he was?"

Ziva picked up one of the scrapbooks. "You be the judge, Mr. Bond," she said, handing it to him.

Stephen flipped through the pages, his face growing paler with each new picture. "Oh my God," he whispered, shoving the book at Ziva. "How--I don't even know how he _took_ those pictures! He'd have had to put some kind of camera in my apartment."

"He was an electronics expert," McGee said quietly to Tony. "Wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility, especially if he could have gotten in while they were gone."

Tony blinked. Five keys, and--"Mr. Bond, can I take a look at your house key?" he asked impulsively.

Stephen fumbled his key ring out of his pocket and handed it over. "It's the red one. Are you--"

"Looks like..." Tony held up Francis's key ring, matching them against Stephen's house key. And as he'd thought, the spare key on Francis's key ring was identical. "Was there ever an opportunity for him to get your spare house key?" he asked.

"Um--" Stephen shook his head in disbelief. "I--probably, when he came in for coffee. We kept the spare key on the rack by the kitchen, and since neither Joshua nor I need it, we wouldn't have noticed it missing. It--he could have come in and taken it and returned it next time. And--" He swallowed. "Wait. Let me see that scrapbook again."

Ziva handed it to him, all three agents watching curiously as Stephen looked through the pages again, frowning and muttering to himself. "He'd have put a camera here," he said, tapping a corner. "Right next to my drafting table. He could see the apartment from there, and if he...wait, no...no, the angle's impossible..." Stephen shook his head. "He needed two cameras. One there, and one by the foot of the bed. He'd have been able to see everything, except Joshua's corner."

"And it doesn't look like he had any interest in Joshua." Tony shrugged. "Do you mind if we take a look around your apartment, Mr. Bond? To find the cameras?"

"I--no, just let me call Joshua."

"Of course. You can use the phone right there."

Stephen picked up the phone and dialed, drumming his fingers against the desk. "C'mon, c'mon," he muttered under his breath. "C'mon, Joshua...Hey, Joshua, it's me. Yeah. We've...well, we've got a problem. NCIS needs to come look at the apartment. Can I explain later?" He exhaled deeply. "Short version--I had a stalker, he's now dead, and he left cameras in our apartment. And I'm not really happy about this and--whoa, okay, okay, settle down, okay? Yeah. They'll be by shortly, as will I, and--yeah, that'd be good. Yeah. See you soon." He hung up and looked down at the phone for a long moment. "Okay," he said, turning around. "I'll see you at my apartment."

The drive back didn't take as long, although they didn't make it back before Stephen. He answered the door on their knock, stepping back so they could enter. Joshua was behind him, a hand on Stephen's shoulder.

"There's one here and one there," Stephen said, nodding. "I think."

McGee crouched down where Stephen had indicated. "Yeah, I see it, although I'm not sure if it's pictures only or video."

Both Stephen and Joshua looked sick at that thought. "If--Stephen, if--" Joshua said shakily.

"I know," Stephen whispered. He turned around to face his lover, taking Joshua's hands. "I know. It's okay."

"No, it's not," Joshua countered. "If he had video--"

"It'll be all right." Stephen stepped closer. "I'm not ashamed of anything we've done," he murmured, so quietly Tony wouldn't have heard it if he hadn't been listening.

Joshua sighed and lowered his forehead to Stephen's. "You'd better be right."

"I think we've got both, Tony," McGee said, jolting Tony out of his observation of the two of them. "We'll need to follow them down to Francis's apartment and find out what he had them attached to."

"Let's go, then." Tony turned to Joshua and Stephen. "Thanks for your cooperation."

"Just get those things out of our home," Joshua said with a shudder.

"Already gone." McGee held up the two evidence bags.

"Thank you." Stephen leaned back against his partner, Joshua's arms going around him automatically. "We appreciate it."

"Now there are two people secure in their identities," McGee commented as they went downstairs to Francis's apartment.

"Yeah." Tony shook his head to fight off the hint of longing that crept into his stomach. "Let's see what we can find out here."

There was nothing in Francis's apartment, but..."Wait," Tony said, looking around. "Didn't you and Ziva say you found a spare hard drive for his computer?"

McGee nodded. "External drive, sure. What he probably did was set the cameras to download wirelessly to either the external or his computer. Odds are it was video he could freeze-frame to get pictures from."

"Let's get it back and see what's on it," Tony told him. "Fast." He couldn't quite get Stephen's words out of his mind and wondered exactly what Stephen had been referring to.

Had either of them actually known about the cameras? And had one of them done something about it?

*****  
"Now this is a sweet setup," Abby said admiringly. "Almost invisible. Lemme take a look at what I've got here. I'll call you if I see anything important."

"Thanks, Abs. How's his laptop coming?"

"Now that you brought him back, McGee will be able to tell you." She took a drink from her Caff-Pow. "Which one do you think it is? Work or personal?"

"With that many stab wounds, I'd go for personal," Tony admitted. "But you tell me what's on those cameras first."

"No problem." She grinned and spun back to her computer.

Tony left the geeks to their techno-babble and went back upstairs to see what he could learn about Francis. Gibbs and Ziva were already gone; there was a note in Ziva's nearly indecipherable handwriting stating that they'd gone to interview Francis's co-workers now that they'd unclassified his project. It had something to do with electronics and computers and Tony couldn't read any more than that. He sighed and began putting together Francis's background, wondering how the hell someone so unbalanced had made it into the Navy--and into a classified project at the DoD.

Two hours later, he had most of Francis's background, which was about as boring as the last opera he'd suffered through. He was about to give up in disgust when Abby called. "Um, Tony?" she said, sounding a bit strangled. "Come down here."

That didn't bode well. Tony pushed away from his desk and took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to wait for the elevator.

"What's up?" he asked, half-running into Abby's lab. Vaguely, he noticed McGee there, working on what had to be Francis's laptop. He didn't really care, at the moment.

"Okay." Abby took a deep breath. She looked decidedly unsettled--and _that_ didn't bode well. " McGee and I got the recordings decrypted fairly easily and I've been going through those while he figures out what else is on the laptop. So. Remember that case we had a while back, where that woman was running a smut ring and I had to watch all that porn?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Most of this is pretty boring. Everyday stuff, food--there's a _lot_ of music on here, by the way. I'm guessing the tall guy--"

"Joshua," Tony interrupted.

"Right. The cute one. Well, they're both cute, but the guy with paint in his hair. I'm guessing he likes to listen to music loud when he works, because there's a lot of time the music's on and the other guy--who never wears color, by the way--isn't home. Anyway. A lot of this is pretty boring like that, although I did have the pleasure of watching the monochrome guy--"

"Stephen, the guy Francis was obsessed with."

"Yeah, him. He does yoga, and damn, he's good. I also saw some people come by--I capped them for you. I'm guessing they're friends or something." Abby shrugged. "One of them had really cool hair. Purple and pink and almost straight up."

"Guy or girl?" Tony asked wryly.

"Girl." Abby grinned.

"So what's bugging you, Abs?" Tony asked.

"Right." She sighed. "Okay. So. I'm not an innocent. And it's not like I've never seen smut before, especially after that case. But...this..." She shook her head. "These two are into some _seriously_ hard-core stuff."

Tony winced. For _Abby_ to say they were into hard-core didn't bode well. "Do I want to see?" he asked warily.

"No. But..." Abby brought an image up on the plasma. "Look."

The camera had an almost head-on view of the bed. The bed itself was stripped of covers and pillows, made only with plain sheets. On the bed itself, Stephen knelt up, arms outstretched and cuffed to--"Are those hoops?" Tony asked, nodding at the bedframe.

"Yeah. It's a dungeon bed." Abby blew out a breath. "Built-in hoops for restraining someone, metal frame for sturdiness, places to weave straps if you want. I've never seen one outside a catalog before."

The sound quality wasn't great, and Tony couldn't make out what Joshua said to Stephen. But he saw Joshua step back, saw him uncoil the whip he carried in his hand. The crack of it was clear and precise, even through the fuzzy sound--as was Stephen's pained cry.

"There's a _lot_ of stuff like this," Abby said, shaking her head. "It looks like he recorded a week at a time and then downloaded it to the memory drive."

"Does this look--" Tony gestured. "I mean, is it even _possible_ for this stuff to be consensual?"

"Sure." Abby shrugged. "And from what I can tell, all of this _is_. Look--" She fast-forwarded a bit, stopping when Joshua put the whip down and uncuffed Stephen's arms, catching him as Stephen half-collapsed on him. Tony watched as Joshua held his lover, rocking him a bit, cheek pressed against his hair. "For everything I see like--before--I get something like this." Abby fast-forwarded again. "Or this."

The music was loud--as always--but the camera was focused on the center of the room, where Stephen was working through yoga. As before, Tony shook his head. "I still don't think people should bend that way," he said with a grimace.

"Shush. But look." Abby gestured at the plasma. Stephen was holding some pose that had him on his hands and the balls of his feet, bent in a V. As Tony watched, Joshua walked over, sliding his hands up Stephen's legs and down his back, leaning down to kiss his back. He stepped back a moment later--probably to get out of his way, Tony thought, watching Stephen pull himself into a handstand and bring his legs down in front of him, standing up and turning to face Joshua.

He saw Stephen's laugh and Joshua's grin as Joshua pulled him into an embrace that had them sinking down on Stephen's yoga mat.

"Whatever these two are up to, it's mutual," Abby said, shutting off the video. "It's just incredibly disturbing."

"What's disturbing, Abs?" Gibbs asked, walking into the lab.

"Some stuff on the video feeds." Abby took the Caff-Pow he handed her and took a big pull on the straw.

"Disturbing how?" Ziva asked.

"Hardcore S&M disturbing." Abby set the drink down. "Consensual, but...I've watched a _lot_ of smut and never seen anything that came _close_ to this."

"Who's the--" Ziva gestured. "Who does what?"

"Joshua's the Dom," Abby told her. "Stephen's the one getting whipped."

Gibbs came over to Abby's computer, squeezing her shoulder absently. "Any motive for murder in here?" he asked.

"That's your job, not mine." She sighed. "I don't see anything to indicate either of them knew about the cameras, and the few occasions where I've seen Francis come over, it really _was_ just for coffee. The guy picked times Joshua wasn't home, but with the cameras, he'd know when that was."

"This is assuming Joshua didn't know," Ziva pointed out. "He may have."

"Stephen might have too." Tony shrugged. "It'd be a good motive for murder--kill your stalker, or your lover's stalker. What about his work?"

"He was working on a research project with a civilian. Ironically, they were working on surveillance equipment--cameras and microphones." Ziva shrugged. "He could have gotten stuff from work easily."

"Or built his own," Abby offered. "None of this stuff is hard to do if you know what you're doing. And given his work computer, he really knew his stuff."

"Still working on that," McGee offered. "I've got most of the data unencrypted, but something isn't right." At Gibbs' look, he dove back behind it. "I'm on it, Boss," he said hastily.

"What was up at work, anyway?" Tony asked. "Any leads?"

Ziva grimaced. "On the surface, it doesn't look like it. His direct supervisor was in California--she's flying back today. The woman he was partnered with--Dr. Christina Morales--said that they had no problems at work, and in fact had just finished a rather prestigious project--they'd gotten some kind of award for it, actually. She and Francis had been working together since he started at the DoD."

"Prestigious project, award..." Tony shrugged. "Could be a possible motive. Was anyone else up for it?"

"No, from what Dr. Morales said. It was some internal thing--more of a recognition for their work than anything else, but it meant more funding and possibly more people," Ziva said.

"More people means more heads to split the credit," Tony pointed out.

"She was a bit egocentric," Ziva admitted. "Not like you'd know anything about that, would you, Tony?"

He decided not to answer that. "So she's a possible, is all I'm saying."

"Until we get this solved, everyone's a possible," Gibbs said irritably. "And Morales has no alibi."

"Home alone all night," Ziva elaborated.

"She know anything about Stephen or Joshua?"

Ziva shook her head. "Nope. Didn't seem to recognize either name."

"Think she's lying?" Tony offered.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Everybody lies, DiNozzo. Right now, we've got two potentials. You and Ziva track down Fielding's friends, see if maybe he wasn't as clueless as he told us. McGee, find out what the hell is on that damn laptop! I want to know if Morales isn't telling us something about that project." Gibbs tossed his coffee cup in the trash and strode out.

"He said his friend Amy had a fund-raiser that night. We should be able to track her down easily enough," Tony told Ziva.

"If she's the one with the cool hair, tell her I approve," Abby said cheerfully.

"Ah--right, Abs, right after I get done telling her how her visits to that apartment were caught on tape." He grinned at her; she wrinkled her nose at him.

"Go do your detective work and get out of my lab," she said, shooing them away.

Amy Haverhill did turn out to be the one with the cool hair. She also turned out to be one of three people in the tiny office of her nonprofit. "I can give you ten minutes, no more," she said, pushing away from her computer and walking into the hallway. "And I'd rather not do it around my co-workers. What's going on?"

"You're friends with Joshua Fielding, right?" Tony asked.

"Joshua, sure. He's one of my closest friends. Him and Paul Zhang and me--we roomed together for a little bit when we all moved down here, until we all drove each other crazy. Why? Is he in trouble?"

Tony didn't answer. "What about his partner, Stephen?"

Amy shrugged. "He's cool. Joshua's crazy about the guy."

"Define crazy," Ziva didn't ask.

"They've been together almost a year, and Joshua--" Amy shrugged. "He's just totally in love with Stephen. It's kind of cute."

"Any problems with their relationship?" Tony asked.

"No, not that I know of. I mean, sometimes Stephen likes to tease Joshua a bit--he'll flirt with other men or something, you know? Just as a joke." Amy shoved her hands into the pockets of her baggy cargo pants.

"What's Joshua's reaction?" Tony asked casually.

Amy grinned. "He generally goes kind of caveman. Well, in a civilized way. He's what I'd call the possessive type, and I guess sometimes Stephen likes pushing that button."

Possessive, jealous of his lover flirting with other men, and a propensity toward sadism and violence. Tony was no profiler, but this was beginning to add up.

"You had a fund-raiser last night, didn't you?" Ziva asked.

"Yeah, a big one. It went late." Amy rubbed her forehead. "Why?"

"Were Joshua and Stephen there?"

"Yeah, of course. Would you _please_ tell me what this is all about?" Amy insisted.

"Just a few more questions, Ms. Haverhill," Tony said winningly. "What time did Joshua and Stephen leave?"

Amy groaned. "I don't know. I was busy. The last I saw them was around one-thirty. I think they got a ride home with Paul or something."

"Thank you. Ah--what about Drake Francis? Did you know him?" Tony asked.

"A little. He kept trying to invite himself in, but most of the time Joshua or Stephen didn't let him. He was kind of creepy, to tell you the truth. Why? What's all this about?" Amy looked between them curiously. "Who got themselves in trouble?"

"Drake got himself killed. And it looks like he was obsessed with Stephen. Would you know anything about that, Ms. Haverhill?" Ziva asked.

Amy paled, her hand flying to her mouth. "Killed?" she managed. "And--" She shook her head. "No. No. You can't possibly think either of them had anything to do with this."

"You said yourself Joshua tended to be possessive," Tony pointed out. "And...how familiar were you with their personal lives?"

"That's all consensual. All of it. Joshua would _never_ do anything with Stephen that wasn't. There's _no_ way Joshua would hurt him outside a scene. Ever." Amy glared at him fiercely. "Joshua's not like that. And Stephen's smart enough to stand up for himself."

Tony had seen too many cases of domestic violence to agree with her assessment. "Thank you, Ms. Haverhill. Do you know where we could reach Mr. Zhang?"

"He's probably at GWU. He's an assistant professor there. Art history. Are you done now?"

"For now," Tony said, tucking away his pad. "Thank you."

"Whatever." She glared at them both impartially and stalked back into her office.

"That went well," Ziva said sardonically as they left.

"Actually, I think it did," Tony countered. "We now know Joshua's possessive, and Stephen likes to play on that. Who's to say Stephen didn't take things a little further? What would you do in that situation?"

"Good point. Let's go talk to this Paul."

Tony stole the keys. "I'd rather get there alive," he said, opening the door. "Let's go to college."

Paul was the other one on the tape; slender, medium height, with black-framed glasses and a lock of hair that kept flopping into his face. His hands were covered with clay and he wore an apron over his clothes. "Yes? Can I help you with something?" he asked politely, looking up from his pottery wheel. The small studio he was in was full of projects in various stages of "done", along with blocks of clay and pottery tools.

Tony held up his badge. "Special Agent DiNozzo, this is Officer David. We're NCIS. Can we talk to you for a moment?"

"If you don't mind me working while you do. I've got a class in an hour and I have to prep. Was trying to get in some working time before I have to go back to Art History 101." He went to a sink against one wall and scrubbed his hands, drying them on a towel that hung nearby. "This way," he said, leading them out of the pottery studio and into a room slightly bigger than a closet. "Assistant professors don't get much space," he said with a faint smile. "So what can I do for the Naval Criminal Investigative Service?"

"You know who we are," Tony said in surprise. "I'm impressed."

Paul shrugged. "My mother was Navy. I spent the first fifteen years of my life on various bases. But she's long since retired, so what's this about?"

"Do you know Joshua Fielding and Stephen Bond?" Tony asked.

"Those two? Sure. Joshua's an old friend of mine--he and Amy and I used to go out together. We roomed together, for about six months. But neither of them are armed forces. That whole don't ask, don't tell thing. Plus I wouldn't exactly call Joshua the military type. Why?"

"What about Drake Francis?" Tony leaned against the door.

Paul blinked and adjusted his glasses. "Creepy guy? That's what Amy and I called him. He was always hanging around whenever we went over, or trying to. Joshua tended to close the door on him; Stephen would apologize and make an excuse or something. But then, that's Joshua and Stephen for you."

"Stephen's the polite one?" Tony asked with a grin.

"More like Joshua just doesn't think before he speaks, half the time. Stephen's a _lot_ more reserved." Paul shrugged.

"What do you think of their relationship?" Ziva asked idly.

"Joshua and Stephen? We all thought it was crazy when they got together. But they're rock-solid. Almost a year now, I think. Joshua adores him, and Stephen...well, it's hard to read Stephen, even if you're a friend."

Tony smiled. "Would you consider Joshua to be...possessive at all? Does he have a temper?"

"Temper, sure. He's an artist, don't we all? Why, what is this about?"

"You were at a fund-raiser for Amy Haverhill's nonprofit last night, weren't you? Were Joshua and Stephen there?" Tony asked instead.

"Since I was their ride, I'd say so, yes," Paul said sarcastically. "We left around...two-fifteen, I think. The clock in my car is broken, so I couldn't tell you for certain. Why?"

"Drake Francis was stabbed to death last night," Tony said bluntly.

"And you think--" Paul stared at him. "No. No way. Joshua's got a temper, but he'd never hurt anyone. Never."

"Even if he knew someone was stalking Stephen?" Ziva asked.

"He's not violent," Paul insisted. "And--was someone? Was Drake?"

"He was obsessed with Stephen, from what we can tell," Tony admitted. "You don't think Joshua would have done something?"

"Okay, look. Joshua's got a temper, I'm not denying that. And I know enough about what he's into to know that I don't want to know the specifics. But he's _not_ violent, and he'd never hurt someone."

"Not even Stephen?" Ziva asked.

Paul sighed. "That's different. He'd never hurt someone outside a scene. Besides, Stephen wouldn't let him." Paul smiled faintly. "Stephen's really good at handling Joshua."

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Zhang," Tony said with a nod.

"Yeah." Paul sighed and turned back to the laptop on his desk.

"While we're out, let's stop by Stephen's office. See if his co-workers know anything," Tony said as they got back in the car.

"Sure. Although right now it looks like we've got enough to bring Mr. Fielding in for questioning."

"And we probably will, but let's have all our bases covered." Tony shrugged. "No such thing as too much information."

Unfortunately, Stephen's officemates didn't have much to say. He was quiet, kept mostly to himself, and his desk area was meticulously neat. He had a couple of awards hung on the walls--"That's not all of them, but that's all he's got room for," said Anne, the office manager. "And...that's his famiily." She nodded at a picture. "And him and Joshua, of course."

"His sexuality isn't a problem here?" Tony asked.

Anne laughed. "Our owners are a gay couple, Agent DiNozzo. And Stephen doesn't advertise it. I mean, he has the picture, but Joshua doesn't really visit here. I think I've met him twice, and one of those was at the company Christmas party."

Well, so much for that. "Where is Stephen now?" Tony asked.

"Oh, he's on-site. He's working on a building over in Tenleytown. Is there anything else I can help you with?" Anne asked.

"No, thank you. You've been great." Tony flashed her a grin and he and Ziva left.

They got back to the office to find McGee working in Abby's lab and Abby still going through video footage. "If you're looking for Gibbs, he got called up to MTAC. I don't think Madame Director's all that happy today. And it doesn't help that we still can't alibi Morales and no one else at the DoD is talking. If you're wondering about the recordings, I'm still working on them. He had about six months' worth," she said with a grimace. "I've been working on the time right around the murder."

"What time did they get home that night?" Tony asked.

"It's hard to judge, because there's no clock on the video feed, and neither camera has a view of a clock. However! I, being the genius I am, have found a way to judge with fairly high accuracy." Abby grinned. "They live on a bus line, and the bus runs every half hour until ten o'clock at night, after which it runs once an hour--on the fifteen, mind you. So--and this took a lot of work, because I really had to filter the sound--I was able to match the bus sound outside. From what I can _tell_ , they got in around twenty to three. However, there's a fairly high percentage of uncertainty there and any good defense attorney would probably be able to rip that to shreds."

"Twenty to three still matches what Ducky said," Ziva pointed out on their way back up to their desks.

"You think they did it together?" Tony asked.

She shrugged. "Let's bring them in for questioning and find out."

Gibbs came back in a few minutes later, looking decidedly grumpy. "Someone better have something for me," he warned them.

"What we've got is a man with a possessive streak, a tendency toward violence, and no real solid alibi past about two," Tony said promptly. "Amy Haverhill confirmed they were at the fundraiser but couldn't give us a time they left after about one-thirty. Paul Zhang gave them a ride home but wasn't sure about the time, only that it was about two or so. Abs thinks it was about 0240, but she's not willing to swear to it."

"I think we should bring Bond and Fielding in for interrogation," Ziva said. "Violent, possessive, with someone stalking his lover?" She raised an eyebrow.

Gibbs nodded. "I agree. DiNozzo, talk to Ducky. David, you're with me." The two of them left and Tony went down to autopsy.

"Somewhere between two and three, and unfortunately that's about as precise as I can give you," Ducky said apologetically. "He was stabbed eleven times, and I believe the last one is what killed him. Very clean slice to the neck."

"Think the others were color?"

"Oh, not at all. I think the last blow was a lucky strike, so to speak. This was a rage killing, no doubt about that. The ferocity of the wounds, the depth of them--whoever killed this young man was _incredibly_ angry." Ducky shook his head. "I haven't seen a case like this in years."

"And we recovered the murder weapon at the scene, so that's no help," Tony murmured.

"No, and that didn't have prints on it. Our killer wiped it off." Ducky grimaced.

"What about the angle of the blows? Do we have any idea how tall our killer was?" Tony asked, looking for _something_ they could use.

"Unfortunately not. Most of the blows were delivered while the victim was prone, likely after he'd been knocked over. The ones that weren't were almost straight-on. There's no real way to determine height." Ducky sighed. "And with rage-induced strength..."

"Yeah. Thanks, Ducky." Tony smiled and headed back upstairs. Ziva and Gibbs weren't back yet, so he spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Francis had been working on until all four of them came back. He still wasn't sure, and the specifics made his head hurt. All he could figure out was that it had something to do with surveilance equipment, and that Francis had been focusing specifically on hidden cameras and videos. "Perfect project for a stalker," he said in disgust, shoving back from his desk. "Fuck me, how did no one see this? And how the hell could Morales not have known?"

 _[Go to part 2](http://blueraccoon.livejournal.com/466296.html) _


	2. Line of Sight, Pt. 2

http://blueraccoon.dreamwidth.org/487535.html?#cutid1


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